Jake comes home from a five-day stint in the Poconos today. I miss that brat. Jake has been out-of-town for fifteen of the last eighteen days. I've been getting tons of sleep and logging more hours of television and movie time than the past two years combined. I've been staying out late and eating fast food and candy and catching up with the coolkids who are reliably up for happy hours and hours and hours because they don't have brats of their own.
I've been complaining that I haven't had a vacation all summer long, but that's a bunch of BS. We went to the beach a few times, including a long weekend with Dave's baseball team and the boy, I got to spend two days in a drug induced haze in the hospital without a care in the world, I spent a week on my couch, and I've been baby-free for an awfully long time now. It's very blissful and quiet and I've gotten a chance to do some resurrection and some introspection and some recollection and some other -ection stuff that I won't mention here and it's been real good and it's all going to come crashing down on me this weekend when Labor Day hits and reminds me that summer is over. So sad.
I was debrided (doesn't that sound dirty? Like "deflowered"?) yesterday at the sinus place and it wasn't nearly as awful as last time. I didn't pass out and the doctor gave me three shots of numbing stuff instead of the usual one and we all laughed at me and I made jokes at my expense and we all laughed some more and then tubes and cameras and sucky things were rammed up my noseholes and yellow and red and brown stuff came out and I left feeling ten pounds lighter and five times better than did when I came in. I don't have to go back for six weeks which is like an eternity for me regarding doctor's visits.
8.21.2007
look away
If you saw what just came out of my head, you would never read this blog again. If you really want to see what I'm dealing with, click here. If you just clicked there by mistake, just pretend that it was canned cranberry. That is the exact color and consistency of what is falling out of my mouth and nose. Maybe a little slimier, and less festive, and tastes slightly less tinny. It's cute that it is shaped kind of like a heart, isn't it?
At my cubby wubby womb room class today, we learned about the Johari Window and how it relates to ourselves and our clients. One of the exercises that we were asked to do is share a memory we have from birth to age three months that we actually remember- no fair saying something that your mom told you about you. It's bogus. You can't. That was the point. But, it got me to thinking about my earliest memory.
I remember very few things before my brother was born, twelve days before my third birthday. I remember sitting on the floor with my mom eating a popsicle in front of the dishwasher in the trailer once, and running a Tonka truck over the plaid couch cushions while my mom whispered something to her friend Nancy, and looking down at my nightgown that said "Sweet Dreams are the Very Best Kind" and thinking that I was reading just because I knew what it said, and standing in what would be the kitchen of the house my parents were building and telling the contractor (I think his name was Bill) that I wanted green carpeting in my room, and I remember losing a birthstone ring right before we moved to that new house and looking everywhere for it so I wouldn't get in trouble but getting sidetracked by the Gong Show. I loved the Gong Show. I remember going to the hospital to see Brian and thinking that I had a lot of responsibility in life now that I had a little brother and my memory must have matured and kicked in shortly thereafter, because I can recall tons of details after that fateful trip to the maternity ward.
Funny, because the since taking my next trip to the maternity ward seventeen months ago I have trouble remembering just about everything.
At my cubby wubby womb room class today, we learned about the Johari Window and how it relates to ourselves and our clients. One of the exercises that we were asked to do is share a memory we have from birth to age three months that we actually remember- no fair saying something that your mom told you about you. It's bogus. You can't. That was the point. But, it got me to thinking about my earliest memory.
I remember very few things before my brother was born, twelve days before my third birthday. I remember sitting on the floor with my mom eating a popsicle in front of the dishwasher in the trailer once, and running a Tonka truck over the plaid couch cushions while my mom whispered something to her friend Nancy, and looking down at my nightgown that said "Sweet Dreams are the Very Best Kind" and thinking that I was reading just because I knew what it said, and standing in what would be the kitchen of the house my parents were building and telling the contractor (I think his name was Bill) that I wanted green carpeting in my room, and I remember losing a birthstone ring right before we moved to that new house and looking everywhere for it so I wouldn't get in trouble but getting sidetracked by the Gong Show. I loved the Gong Show. I remember going to the hospital to see Brian and thinking that I had a lot of responsibility in life now that I had a little brother and my memory must have matured and kicked in shortly thereafter, because I can recall tons of details after that fateful trip to the maternity ward.
Funny, because the since taking my next trip to the maternity ward seventeen months ago I have trouble remembering just about everything.
8.20.2007
baby got back
After much ado about flights and weather and hurricane force winds Jake is back in Philadelphia, bigger and better than ever.
The first thing he did after I grabbed him away from my mother was put his little fingers together and said "Its". Then I sang about his favorite spider and he gave me a kiss and touched my ear and told me what it was as if I had to go a whole entire week without knowing what the hell was sticking out of the side of my head.
The last thing he did before he went to sleep was lift up his head, look around his room, kiss his bear, sighed big, and said "home". And I melted and summoned every inch of self control that I have in my entire body to keep me from crawling in his crib with him and crying.
The first thing he did after I grabbed him away from my mother was put his little fingers together and said "Its". Then I sang about his favorite spider and he gave me a kiss and touched my ear and told me what it was as if I had to go a whole entire week without knowing what the hell was sticking out of the side of my head.
The last thing he did before he went to sleep was lift up his head, look around his room, kiss his bear, sighed big, and said "home". And I melted and summoned every inch of self control that I have in my entire body to keep me from crawling in his crib with him and crying.
8.19.2007
vacation, had to get away
Just a few more hours left of baby-free living. Jake left last Sunday, but I haven't really spent any real time with him since last Monday. Tuesday I had the biopsy (with thumbs-down results. I am done talking about it here, I've started another blog that will be devoted entirely to my chassis. Let me know if you'd like the link I won't think you are perverty or anything.) so I was out of commission Tuesday night and Wednesday. Thursday was the big scramble to get my bag packed and Jake's bag packed and the house in some sort of order before I went in the hospital for the surgery on Friday. So it's been about two weeks since I spent any quality Mommy-Jake time.
Everyone I see asks me if I'm lost, or feel empty, or if I miss him terribly, or keep looking for him. I do miss him and I want to give him big hugs and get tons of sloppy kisses and hear what new words he learned and see his new haircut, but that brat will be in my house for the next 18 years. A week off here and there is a welcome rest from washing valves and wiping the floors after each meal and touching poop. I don't feel lost or empty and I have only looked for him twice, but I blame the Vicodin. No work last week meant that I could sleep in a little bit and bum around in the afternoon without checking my watch every ten minutes to make sure that daycare isn't closing soon. I painted my toenails and I don't have any little fingerprints in them. I got a haircut and then I got to play with it for an hour after I got home. I just went grocery shopping and had the little basket in the cart open to put my eggs and produce in and I didn't have to make the choice to keep Jake in the car seat or throw him in the play pen and listen to him scream while I emptied the car. I felt like a normal person for a few days instead of a mom. And my mom got to feel like a mom for a few days instead of a normal person.
It was fabulous all around.
Everyone I see asks me if I'm lost, or feel empty, or if I miss him terribly, or keep looking for him. I do miss him and I want to give him big hugs and get tons of sloppy kisses and hear what new words he learned and see his new haircut, but that brat will be in my house for the next 18 years. A week off here and there is a welcome rest from washing valves and wiping the floors after each meal and touching poop. I don't feel lost or empty and I have only looked for him twice, but I blame the Vicodin. No work last week meant that I could sleep in a little bit and bum around in the afternoon without checking my watch every ten minutes to make sure that daycare isn't closing soon. I painted my toenails and I don't have any little fingerprints in them. I got a haircut and then I got to play with it for an hour after I got home. I just went grocery shopping and had the little basket in the cart open to put my eggs and produce in and I didn't have to make the choice to keep Jake in the car seat or throw him in the play pen and listen to him scream while I emptied the car. I felt like a normal person for a few days instead of a mom. And my mom got to feel like a mom for a few days instead of a normal person.
It was fabulous all around.
8.18.2007
nose
I went to the sinus doctor on Thursday and it was so horribly painful and disturbing that I hardly feel comfortable bringing it up this morning. Google Image "debridement" and you'll see what I mean. If you don't have a strong stomach, just know that it is a procedure where the doctor crams a big long tube in your nosehole and rakes out leftover snot and blood and debris while you are awake. A day and a half of drug-free induced labor wasn't this bad. I passed out from the pain. I probably farted when I did, and there were students and nurses and helper monkeys filled the room to see the girl with the almost-dead right sinus.
And, I have to go back in two Mondays. I'm shaking in my boots.
Other than that, things looked good.
And, I have to go back in two Mondays. I'm shaking in my boots.
Other than that, things looked good.
8.17.2007
jake's monthly
Before I had Jake I categorized women into two groups. One group told everyone how many weeks pregnant they are and how many months old their brat is. The other group was sensible and knew that no one cared how many hours ago they got knocked up and how many milliseconds old their kid was.
Then I got pregnant and I couldn't figure out how many months pregnant I was. If I am twenty-one weeks does this mean that I am four months because I've successfully completed four months of pregnancy or am I five because I'm in my fifth? But what about the books that start the sixth month at twenty-one and some months are three weeks long and some are five because they go by gestational stages and not calendar days. And is a month four weeks long? Five? Twenty-eight days or Thirty? What about when I was pregnant during February and January and those months have three days difference? It was all very confusing and I still can't figure it out and truth be told, it is one of the reasons I don't want to have another baby.
Now that Jake is born, I can't just say that he is one, because what if you think that he just turned one and he is an over-sized freakishly talkitive thirteen month old who really creeps you out and haunts your dreams like Dakota Fanning does mine? Or what if you think he is a slightly-slow twenty three month old and you assume that I'm not working with him on his motor skills and development and he is a little under-sized and you immediately call children's services because I'm not feeding my boy and then I have to deal with all that crap? It's really a delicate balance of the time-baby continuum that I don't care to upset.
Jake turned seventeen months old today at 2:48 am.
Then I got pregnant and I couldn't figure out how many months pregnant I was. If I am twenty-one weeks does this mean that I am four months because I've successfully completed four months of pregnancy or am I five because I'm in my fifth? But what about the books that start the sixth month at twenty-one and some months are three weeks long and some are five because they go by gestational stages and not calendar days. And is a month four weeks long? Five? Twenty-eight days or Thirty? What about when I was pregnant during February and January and those months have three days difference? It was all very confusing and I still can't figure it out and truth be told, it is one of the reasons I don't want to have another baby.
Now that Jake is born, I can't just say that he is one, because what if you think that he just turned one and he is an over-sized freakishly talkitive thirteen month old who really creeps you out and haunts your dreams like Dakota Fanning does mine? Or what if you think he is a slightly-slow twenty three month old and you assume that I'm not working with him on his motor skills and development and he is a little under-sized and you immediately call children's services because I'm not feeding my boy and then I have to deal with all that crap? It's really a delicate balance of the time-baby continuum that I don't care to upset.
Jake turned seventeen months old today at 2:48 am.
8.16.2007
i'm it
Rinny tagged me to list eight random facts about myself. Since this is by nature a mommyblog and since I by nature tend to talk a whole lot about myself, I'm going to keep this one true to the cause for once. Below are the rules of the game and eight random facts about myself as a mom.
The Rules:
1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog (about their eight things) and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
The list:
1. Sometimes I feel like I was born without the all-important mommy-gene. I vaguely recall a few doll babies here and there in my youth, but I'm more of an animal person. I think I make up for the lack of natural momming ability by being totally and completely in love with Jake and paying real close attention to what modern science tells you to do with your brats.
2. I think that being a parent has made me less neurotic and compulsive, but much more anxious and obsessive.
3. My child is being raised by a village and I think it is wonderful. He is so full of love and awe for everyone and it makes me proud when strangers tell me that he is the sweetest, friendliest one year old they have ever seen. I have a few friends that tell me that their own children were not as affectionate with them as Jake is with them. Although I worry about him walking off with strangers and getting in windowless vans, I hope that he stays charismatic and trusting of others. I hope he isn't slutty though.
4. Having Dave's baby makes me love him more than I thought I ever could. I look at Jake and see Dave and I look at Dave and see Jake. I get the whole craze over babydaddies now. Before I thought it was a bunch of hooey.
5. I miss the bond I had with my cats. I hope they understand. Especially Tyler.
6. When I first got pregnant, I was really angry. Then I thought I had a miscarriage at 12 weeks and everything changed. All of a sudden I wanted that baby more than I had ever wanted anything in the whole world.
7. I don't listen to my mother all that much when it comes to parenting and she doesn't offer all that much because she knows I don't listen. The greatest gift she has ever given me was to validate the feelings I have had since becoming a wife, especially in regards to pregnancy, childbirth, and the way I feel about both my self and my role as a mother.
8. I'm excited to see what the Life and Times for Jake are like. As different as life is now than it was for our parents and as different as it was for them than for our grandparents, it is going to be even greater for Jake. Things are going to happen in his lifetime that we can't even fathom today.
And now my eight (plus) people:
Jenny: because you promised to post more Jenny-related material
Amy Jo: because I hear that meme's cause an onset of labor
Angela: because I want you to write about you on your blog. I admire your self-control to be a true mommy-blogger
Diane: it's been awhile. Do you need some inspiration?
Louisa: I guess maybe Irish Blogger is down?
Heather: because I know that post-partum brains are soupy and getting your thoughts in some sort of order can help
Susan: because your burning secret is keeping you away from blogging. I can tell.
Sara: because you need an outlet sister. Catagorize some of that chaos.
Hope: because you started your blogs but you are failing miserably at the upkeep.
Tavia: welcome to the world of getting tagged.
Katie: because you're my longest friend.
Chrissy: your blog needs more text these days!
Andi: because you are threatening to tone down the blogging and I'm afraid that you might hold true to that if I don't make you write.
The girl from A Beautiful Kind: because I love that you have, of all things, a mommy blog too.
And I'm going to go out on a limb here and tag the Pioneer Woman. I remember back when we were all fledgling bloggers and she (gasp) used to leave comments on my blog too. A comment from her is like tongue kissing Brad Pitt! She's famous now, and I'm still me. One day, though, I'm going to hit it big too. Maybe not here, but somewhere. And then we can all tounge kiss.
Put your eight things on your blog if you have one or in the comments section of this blog if you prefer. If you are not tagged, leave your "eight" in the comments section anyways. It will be fun to read them.
Go!
The Rules:
1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog (about their eight things) and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
The list:
1. Sometimes I feel like I was born without the all-important mommy-gene. I vaguely recall a few doll babies here and there in my youth, but I'm more of an animal person. I think I make up for the lack of natural momming ability by being totally and completely in love with Jake and paying real close attention to what modern science tells you to do with your brats.
2. I think that being a parent has made me less neurotic and compulsive, but much more anxious and obsessive.
3. My child is being raised by a village and I think it is wonderful. He is so full of love and awe for everyone and it makes me proud when strangers tell me that he is the sweetest, friendliest one year old they have ever seen. I have a few friends that tell me that their own children were not as affectionate with them as Jake is with them. Although I worry about him walking off with strangers and getting in windowless vans, I hope that he stays charismatic and trusting of others. I hope he isn't slutty though.
4. Having Dave's baby makes me love him more than I thought I ever could. I look at Jake and see Dave and I look at Dave and see Jake. I get the whole craze over babydaddies now. Before I thought it was a bunch of hooey.
5. I miss the bond I had with my cats. I hope they understand. Especially Tyler.
6. When I first got pregnant, I was really angry. Then I thought I had a miscarriage at 12 weeks and everything changed. All of a sudden I wanted that baby more than I had ever wanted anything in the whole world.
7. I don't listen to my mother all that much when it comes to parenting and she doesn't offer all that much because she knows I don't listen. The greatest gift she has ever given me was to validate the feelings I have had since becoming a wife, especially in regards to pregnancy, childbirth, and the way I feel about both my self and my role as a mother.
8. I'm excited to see what the Life and Times for Jake are like. As different as life is now than it was for our parents and as different as it was for them than for our grandparents, it is going to be even greater for Jake. Things are going to happen in his lifetime that we can't even fathom today.
And now my eight (plus) people:
Jenny: because you promised to post more Jenny-related material
Amy Jo: because I hear that meme's cause an onset of labor
Angela: because I want you to write about you on your blog. I admire your self-control to be a true mommy-blogger
Diane: it's been awhile. Do you need some inspiration?
Louisa: I guess maybe Irish Blogger is down?
Heather: because I know that post-partum brains are soupy and getting your thoughts in some sort of order can help
Susan: because your burning secret is keeping you away from blogging. I can tell.
Sara: because you need an outlet sister. Catagorize some of that chaos.
Hope: because you started your blogs but you are failing miserably at the upkeep.
Tavia: welcome to the world of getting tagged.
Katie: because you're my longest friend.
Chrissy: your blog needs more text these days!
Andi: because you are threatening to tone down the blogging and I'm afraid that you might hold true to that if I don't make you write.
The girl from A Beautiful Kind: because I love that you have, of all things, a mommy blog too.
And I'm going to go out on a limb here and tag the Pioneer Woman. I remember back when we were all fledgling bloggers and she (gasp) used to leave comments on my blog too. A comment from her is like tongue kissing Brad Pitt! She's famous now, and I'm still me. One day, though, I'm going to hit it big too. Maybe not here, but somewhere. And then we can all tounge kiss.
Put your eight things on your blog if you have one or in the comments section of this blog if you prefer. If you are not tagged, leave your "eight" in the comments section anyways. It will be fun to read them.
Go!
8.15.2007
eyeball
The eye guy says that he is thrilled with my progress and he can't believe that the incision has already healed and there is no bruising. He told his henchman/assistant/student lady that usually there is mass amounts of blood clots and swelling and bruising and pain but I just have a little bit of swelling and a tiny bit of achiness. I don't have time for icky monstrosities on my face. I only have a week off from my budding career as a supermodel. Someone has to get the dollars together for Jake's new shoes (size 6 please, if you're offering). No nose blowing or heavy lifting or obscene jostling for six weeks, when I go back to see him but life can go on as usual otherwise.
Normally I go in to work on my birthday for the extra attention and the lunches and the cake and candies on my desk and the happy hour and the hugs. This might be the world's loneliest birthday ever. All my friends have real jobs and responsibilities now. No one is around to play. Dave is in Amish Country representing someone for something they need or did or whatever it is that he does when he goes to where he works. It is so depressing. I remember when we all worked in stores and bars and went to class a few hours a week and could spend our birthdays drinking fun cocktails and eating lots of fried foods all day long and stopping for ice cream at least eight times between drinks and baskets of chicken fingers and plates of nachos. What the hell happened? Next year you are all taking off and we are spending my very own special day together and it is going to be fun. Dammit. No more of this adult stuff.
It's hard being 35. At least I look great for someone in her mid-thirties.
Normally I go in to work on my birthday for the extra attention and the lunches and the cake and candies on my desk and the happy hour and the hugs. This might be the world's loneliest birthday ever. All my friends have real jobs and responsibilities now. No one is around to play. Dave is in Amish Country representing someone for something they need or did or whatever it is that he does when he goes to where he works. It is so depressing. I remember when we all worked in stores and bars and went to class a few hours a week and could spend our birthdays drinking fun cocktails and eating lots of fried foods all day long and stopping for ice cream at least eight times between drinks and baskets of chicken fingers and plates of nachos. What the hell happened? Next year you are all taking off and we are spending my very own special day together and it is going to be fun. Dammit. No more of this adult stuff.
It's hard being 35. At least I look great for someone in her mid-thirties.
zero shopping days left
My birthday is finally here after a whole year of waiting! I'm thirty one, so I'll be telling people that I am 34 this year. Because let's face it- I look a whole hell of a lot better for 34 than I do for 31. And I have three kids too. Don't I look awesome?
Feel free to shower me with comments and emails and gifts and praises. I'll be sitting here most of the day. On the couch. With an ice pack and some Tylenol.
I've forgone the Vicodin. Painkillers and I aren't the best of friends. They weird me out and make me angry and depressed and if I weren't so doped up I'd get up and get a little punchy. It's not good for anyone. Around these parts I could probably make about $30 with what I have left over, but now that I'm a mom and part of the over-thirty crowd I'll do what's right and flush them down the toilet. Never in the history of being (outside of those Tylenol 3's I took after having Jake) have I ever had a need for anything stronger than Alleve so I don't want to keep them around the house. Devil pills, that's what they are. And they are giving me such terrible dreams that I am afraid of what's next. If you really want to know about them, get a hold of me and I'll send you the graphic details. I don't think I'd have any readers left if I posted them here.
I have an eye doctor's appointment in an hour, and I smell like I've been sweating steriods and antibiotics and other fun meds for about three days, so I'm going to get a big birthday shower and see what the eye guy has to say.
Feel free to shower me with comments and emails and gifts and praises. I'll be sitting here most of the day. On the couch. With an ice pack and some Tylenol.
I've forgone the Vicodin. Painkillers and I aren't the best of friends. They weird me out and make me angry and depressed and if I weren't so doped up I'd get up and get a little punchy. It's not good for anyone. Around these parts I could probably make about $30 with what I have left over, but now that I'm a mom and part of the over-thirty crowd I'll do what's right and flush them down the toilet. Never in the history of being (outside of those Tylenol 3's I took after having Jake) have I ever had a need for anything stronger than Alleve so I don't want to keep them around the house. Devil pills, that's what they are. And they are giving me such terrible dreams that I am afraid of what's next. If you really want to know about them, get a hold of me and I'll send you the graphic details. I don't think I'd have any readers left if I posted them here.
I have an eye doctor's appointment in an hour, and I smell like I've been sweating steriods and antibiotics and other fun meds for about three days, so I'm going to get a big birthday shower and see what the eye guy has to say.
8.13.2007
pure class
I figure that if I have to stay at home for an entire week, I may as well make as much a vacation of it as possible. Instead of moping around in my pajamas all day, I decided to sit up on the deck and read a little. In my bathing suit.
I came down for my 3pm dose of medication just in time for the UPS guy to ring the bell. Because I can't really run upstairs to grab a shirt and because the house is clean for once and there aren't any clothes lying around and because Dave really needs this new phone and because those delivery guys don't wait for anyone, I was forced to answer the door in a bikini. Holding three Rx bottles and a bag of ice cubes.
The guy didn't seem to mind a bit and asked me if I needed help with anything. I apologized for answering the door looking like a hot mess and said no. Then I shut and locked the door before I got a chance to see what brown can do for me.
I came down for my 3pm dose of medication just in time for the UPS guy to ring the bell. Because I can't really run upstairs to grab a shirt and because the house is clean for once and there aren't any clothes lying around and because Dave really needs this new phone and because those delivery guys don't wait for anyone, I was forced to answer the door in a bikini. Holding three Rx bottles and a bag of ice cubes.
The guy didn't seem to mind a bit and asked me if I needed help with anything. I apologized for answering the door looking like a hot mess and said no. Then I shut and locked the door before I got a chance to see what brown can do for me.
8.09.2007
two down
Things went as well as possible on Tuesday at the big biopsy appointment. I didn't pass out or throw up this time, and that is always promising. I should hear back from the doctor in a couple weeks. Hopefully by Labor Day I will either be told that I don't have to come back for a full year or I will have a good, solid plan in place. The doctor seemed optimistic, as the preliminary tests I had done last month showed that everything is better than it was in 2005. She discounted the fact that everything looked perfect last year right after I had Jake, and said that my old doctor should have made arrangements for another test since it may have been a false negative reading. But, he packed up and left for Atlanta without ever considering me and my lady. Jerk.
And tomorrow is the big day. I should get a call from Jefferson Hospital sometime between six and nine tonight with my go-time. My mom gets in at 9.30 tomorrow morning to take Jake off my hands for the week. I miss him already and I feel terrible that these past couple days have been so hectic that I didn't have the chance to spend any quality time with him. Luckily, the boy has the disposition of an Irish Setter and is happy no matter what he's doing and who he's with so he has been having a great time with the aunts and cousins all week while I've been poked and prodded and jostled about.
Did I mention that Jake will be on a plane for the first time in his whole born life on Sunday? Mixed feelings on that one. I'm glad my mom will be the one to deal if he screams but he will be careening over Pennsylvania at 500 miles per hour and a billion feet in the air without me. I'm not afraid of air travel, I'm much more wary of driving, but it's still nerve wracking.
Luckily I'll be sedated through the whole ordeal.
And tomorrow is the big day. I should get a call from Jefferson Hospital sometime between six and nine tonight with my go-time. My mom gets in at 9.30 tomorrow morning to take Jake off my hands for the week. I miss him already and I feel terrible that these past couple days have been so hectic that I didn't have the chance to spend any quality time with him. Luckily, the boy has the disposition of an Irish Setter and is happy no matter what he's doing and who he's with so he has been having a great time with the aunts and cousins all week while I've been poked and prodded and jostled about.
Did I mention that Jake will be on a plane for the first time in his whole born life on Sunday? Mixed feelings on that one. I'm glad my mom will be the one to deal if he screams but he will be careening over Pennsylvania at 500 miles per hour and a billion feet in the air without me. I'm not afraid of air travel, I'm much more wary of driving, but it's still nerve wracking.
Luckily I'll be sedated through the whole ordeal.
8.08.2007
weighing in
It is no secret that TV before age two is not good for your kids. All those baby learning programs and such is really a bunch of bunk marketed at parents who don't feel comfortable teaching their children every waking moment of the day. Infants and toddlers learn by modeling behavior, and they aren't wired to learn from household appliances and electronics. The bright lights and over-stimulation get in the way of information retention. Scientists have known it since we were kids. The media is all over some "new" study that just came out telling us that putting your kid in front of a show is detrimental to his health and brain functioning and language development. Of course it is. It does the same for adults. I know this because my brain rotted away in college from too much TV. And poor nutrition and too much fun, but TV definitely played a part.
Does Jake watch television? Hells yes he does. Teletubbies, Curious George, Bob the Builder, Sesame Street, and Boohbahs. I try to keep him way from anything else, especially since he just picked up that little mimicking habit. He watches a half hour or so in the mornings to keep him occupied while we get ready for work. Then sometimes I put a babyshow on if I have something to do around the house. It helps me stay sane. Believe it or not, life goes on after baby. As much as I would like to say I was one of those crunchy moms that sacrifices her own personal hygiene and schedule and chores for a brat, I'm not. I'm still really into myself and my level of cleanliness and my own personal business. Sometimes a mom needs a break.
Usually the television is just on near Jake when I do this. He plays with his toys or eats the (healthy) snack I give him and he only looks up when he hears Elmo or Ernie if Sesame Street is on. Boohbahs put him in a trance-like state, so I am trying to ween him from them. Bob the Builder and all the trucks excite him to no end. I think he is a little creeped out by the Teletubbies too but he loves the sunbaby. George is Jake's main shiz, but I can't be in the same room as that show. George does a lot of really annoying stuff, and the Yellow Hat Man lets that monkey do whatever he wants. He is the worst dad since Al Bundy. Since Jake seems to be developing okay and his language is freakishly advanced, and since I need a break from being a mom for about an hour a day (time at work not withstanding) I'm going to continue ignoring the Surgeon General or whatever office is trying to make me feel like I may as well be putting tacks in my kid's food because he knows who Big Bird is.
Does Jake watch television? Hells yes he does. Teletubbies, Curious George, Bob the Builder, Sesame Street, and Boohbahs. I try to keep him way from anything else, especially since he just picked up that little mimicking habit. He watches a half hour or so in the mornings to keep him occupied while we get ready for work. Then sometimes I put a babyshow on if I have something to do around the house. It helps me stay sane. Believe it or not, life goes on after baby. As much as I would like to say I was one of those crunchy moms that sacrifices her own personal hygiene and schedule and chores for a brat, I'm not. I'm still really into myself and my level of cleanliness and my own personal business. Sometimes a mom needs a break.
Usually the television is just on near Jake when I do this. He plays with his toys or eats the (healthy) snack I give him and he only looks up when he hears Elmo or Ernie if Sesame Street is on. Boohbahs put him in a trance-like state, so I am trying to ween him from them. Bob the Builder and all the trucks excite him to no end. I think he is a little creeped out by the Teletubbies too but he loves the sunbaby. George is Jake's main shiz, but I can't be in the same room as that show. George does a lot of really annoying stuff, and the Yellow Hat Man lets that monkey do whatever he wants. He is the worst dad since Al Bundy. Since Jake seems to be developing okay and his language is freakishly advanced, and since I need a break from being a mom for about an hour a day (time at work not withstanding) I'm going to continue ignoring the Surgeon General or whatever office is trying to make me feel like I may as well be putting tacks in my kid's food because he knows who Big Bird is.
8.07.2007
kids these days
Back in the olden days when I was in high school, my friends and I spent our weekend nights driving around the Peninsula and walking on the beach or heading up to the golf course to sled in the winter and run through the sprinklers in the summer, parking by the airport to watch the planes come in- try doing that post 9/11- and stare at the strobe lights until we felt like we were going to puke, sitting in that lot across the bay to watch the sailboats and to talk about life and going to college and the other kids at school and parents, braving the public dock if we were feeling especially urban, trekking up to Wegmans to see who was hanging out, and stopping at Eat-n-Park on the way back down Peach to grab a Cookie Fudge Fantasy or six. Because we were uber dorks, sometimes we would hang out at Barnes and Nobles too. And while we were there we would talk to our English teacher who moonlighted there. And she would recommend things. And we would buy them. And read them. Uber clearly isn't strong enough of a word. Seriously, how did I ever have any friends?
We were all pretty much good kids. We didn't drink much, if at all and none of us smoked cigarettes. We played sports and joined clubs and got good grades. We knew everyone and were friends with almost each one of them. Except the skanks and the skinheads. They were such losers. Oh, and with few exceptions, the band people never wanted much to do with anyone who wasn't in the band so we were out there. We were scared of sex and drugs and alcohol and fast cars and loose women thanks to ninth and eleventh grade Health class.
I still can't imagine that my mother ever believed that we went to the supermarket to hang out on a Friday night. But we did. And so did other kids from school and we would see each other and say what's up and decide that there was nothing going except for aisle 6 so we may as well stay there. There is always something to eat, you don't have to tip anyone, and the patio furniture displays were ours for the taking.
But if Jake ever told me he was heading out on a Friday night to go to the grocery store I think I would keep him in the house and call him a dirty liar under my breath.
We were all pretty much good kids. We didn't drink much, if at all and none of us smoked cigarettes. We played sports and joined clubs and got good grades. We knew everyone and were friends with almost each one of them. Except the skanks and the skinheads. They were such losers. Oh, and with few exceptions, the band people never wanted much to do with anyone who wasn't in the band so we were out there. We were scared of sex and drugs and alcohol and fast cars and loose women thanks to ninth and eleventh grade Health class.
I still can't imagine that my mother ever believed that we went to the supermarket to hang out on a Friday night. But we did. And so did other kids from school and we would see each other and say what's up and decide that there was nothing going except for aisle 6 so we may as well stay there. There is always something to eat, you don't have to tip anyone, and the patio furniture displays were ours for the taking.
But if Jake ever told me he was heading out on a Friday night to go to the grocery store I think I would keep him in the house and call him a dirty liar under my breath.
8.06.2007
big week
I've been mildly to moderately stressed out before, but never anything like this. Work is wild, which isn't helping anything. Usually I get a break from life between 8:30 and 4, but not lately.
My thoughts are full of surgical mishaps and giant pulsating tumors and stuff that I keep out of this blog because there are, in fact, a few facets of privacy in my life. My face hurts, but not as bad as my nethers. I'm scared something is really wrong down there because there have been stabby pains for quite some time now. I get the biopsy tomorrow and will hopefully find something out by Labor Day. I keep telling myself that nothing can be so bad between my waist and my knees that it can't be fixed. It isn't like I have a brain lesion or a hole in my heart or anything. Thankfully it isn't my liver that is diseased, so I can still self-medicate with booze. Doctor's orders say no real drugs three weeks before surgery, so that took me away from my routine of popping arthritis meds and sleep-inducing allergy pills since early July, twenty-one days before my original faceoff date.
Yeah so, my entire body is sore, my lady is rotting from the inside out, my drug-free joints have a hard time bending and straightening, my nose has completely failed me, my right eye can't focus, my hair is falling out, and I can't keep weight on to save my life. I have a balding patch on the top right side of my head and I'm breathing like a fat person on a flight of stairs and I'm embarrassed to tell you what I weigh but I haven't weighed this little since eighth grade and I'm considering calling the anesthesiologist because I'm a bit worried that the dosage of go-to-sleep juice he decided on when I went for my pre-op may be a little strong. There's probably a fine line between getting put to sleep like a sick patient and getting put to sleep like a sick dog and I don't really want to cross that.
I do have a baby to stay alive for, after all. And this blog that is supposed to be entirely dedicated to him. Which is why you came here in the first place... Jake will be on vacation at my mom's house in Erie, Pa next week while I'm laid up. He will get to go to my Aunt Janie and Uncle Greg's house and play in their giant back yard and he will feed the koi in my mom's pond and he'll get doted on over at Sarah Reed when he visits my grandmother and the Erie Zoo and Presque Isle and Asbury Woods and Waldameer and maybe even get to ride out to Fairview to go to Creamland if he is good. Hell, he will probably get to go to Creamland even if he is the world's biggest brat. Whatever. He is too little for a Crunch Coat Cone, so he loses in the long run.
My mom is really excited and plans to cart Jake around in a giant Radio Flyer that he got for Easter. I don't think that is going to work out for her, so I suggested an umbrella stroller.
She bought him outfits to wear to the zoo and a new bathing suit and a bunch of other stuff. I'm hoping it fits him because it seems that he has gone from his 12-18 month stuff fitting him well if not a little big to needing 18-24's and even a few 2T's. The Size 5 superfly Adidas shell toe Superstars that were a bit too big when I bought them a few weeks ago are now too small. Jake's stompers need a 6.
The prospect of a baby-free ten days and a bottle of Rx drugs sounds so inviting, but I know that by day four (six if those drugs are really good) I'll miss him so much that it will kill me not to pick up the phone, but I'm going to let my mom have her week with him and she can parade him around my hometown with little interruption from me, because I know that the day after he comes home again I'll be ready for another break. Funny how that works.
I'll send him away with a few outfits and his blanket and his bear even though I secretly like to sneak Bear into my bed when Jake sleeps away. I'll suffer this once, but if I don't do well Bear might have to be accidentally left behind next year. I'm kinda selfish when it comes to being a mom.
Jake is still the main maniac in town and all around. It is kind of nice that he doesn't require much in the way of toys and entertainment. He is happy running through the house with a phone or a remote in one hand and keys in the other if he isn't coloring. He is trying to put together sentences, but it makes him harder to understand. Life was easier when he would stick to one or two words. Now we have to listen hard for those words mushed in between all the jibber jabber. He does well with "in the ___" and "my ___" and "___ please" phrases, but not so well with everything else.
For fun, I try to teach Jake big words since he is all of a sudden into repeating everything we say. Most babies do this much younger, but not my kid. Instead he usually just listens to us and screams the words he already knows. If I say "I have to get in the car to go to the store and buy some apples" Jake yells "CAR! APPLE!". Now that he is mimicking I've been trying to get him to say "ambulance" ("amabobosee") and "alligator" (he doesn't even try anymore. He just claps his hands and says "chomp"). I love exploiting that kid. It makes me feel better. Today we might move on to big bad "B" words.
Any suggestions?
My thoughts are full of surgical mishaps and giant pulsating tumors and stuff that I keep out of this blog because there are, in fact, a few facets of privacy in my life. My face hurts, but not as bad as my nethers. I'm scared something is really wrong down there because there have been stabby pains for quite some time now. I get the biopsy tomorrow and will hopefully find something out by Labor Day. I keep telling myself that nothing can be so bad between my waist and my knees that it can't be fixed. It isn't like I have a brain lesion or a hole in my heart or anything. Thankfully it isn't my liver that is diseased, so I can still self-medicate with booze. Doctor's orders say no real drugs three weeks before surgery, so that took me away from my routine of popping arthritis meds and sleep-inducing allergy pills since early July, twenty-one days before my original faceoff date.
Yeah so, my entire body is sore, my lady is rotting from the inside out, my drug-free joints have a hard time bending and straightening, my nose has completely failed me, my right eye can't focus, my hair is falling out, and I can't keep weight on to save my life. I have a balding patch on the top right side of my head and I'm breathing like a fat person on a flight of stairs and I'm embarrassed to tell you what I weigh but I haven't weighed this little since eighth grade and I'm considering calling the anesthesiologist because I'm a bit worried that the dosage of go-to-sleep juice he decided on when I went for my pre-op may be a little strong. There's probably a fine line between getting put to sleep like a sick patient and getting put to sleep like a sick dog and I don't really want to cross that.
I do have a baby to stay alive for, after all. And this blog that is supposed to be entirely dedicated to him. Which is why you came here in the first place... Jake will be on vacation at my mom's house in Erie, Pa next week while I'm laid up. He will get to go to my Aunt Janie and Uncle Greg's house and play in their giant back yard and he will feed the koi in my mom's pond and he'll get doted on over at Sarah Reed when he visits my grandmother and the Erie Zoo and Presque Isle and Asbury Woods and Waldameer and maybe even get to ride out to Fairview to go to Creamland if he is good. Hell, he will probably get to go to Creamland even if he is the world's biggest brat. Whatever. He is too little for a Crunch Coat Cone, so he loses in the long run.
My mom is really excited and plans to cart Jake around in a giant Radio Flyer that he got for Easter. I don't think that is going to work out for her, so I suggested an umbrella stroller.
She bought him outfits to wear to the zoo and a new bathing suit and a bunch of other stuff. I'm hoping it fits him because it seems that he has gone from his 12-18 month stuff fitting him well if not a little big to needing 18-24's and even a few 2T's. The Size 5 superfly Adidas shell toe Superstars that were a bit too big when I bought them a few weeks ago are now too small. Jake's stompers need a 6.
The prospect of a baby-free ten days and a bottle of Rx drugs sounds so inviting, but I know that by day four (six if those drugs are really good) I'll miss him so much that it will kill me not to pick up the phone, but I'm going to let my mom have her week with him and she can parade him around my hometown with little interruption from me, because I know that the day after he comes home again I'll be ready for another break. Funny how that works.
I'll send him away with a few outfits and his blanket and his bear even though I secretly like to sneak Bear into my bed when Jake sleeps away. I'll suffer this once, but if I don't do well Bear might have to be accidentally left behind next year. I'm kinda selfish when it comes to being a mom.
Jake is still the main maniac in town and all around. It is kind of nice that he doesn't require much in the way of toys and entertainment. He is happy running through the house with a phone or a remote in one hand and keys in the other if he isn't coloring. He is trying to put together sentences, but it makes him harder to understand. Life was easier when he would stick to one or two words. Now we have to listen hard for those words mushed in between all the jibber jabber. He does well with "in the ___" and "my ___" and "___ please" phrases, but not so well with everything else.
For fun, I try to teach Jake big words since he is all of a sudden into repeating everything we say. Most babies do this much younger, but not my kid. Instead he usually just listens to us and screams the words he already knows. If I say "I have to get in the car to go to the store and buy some apples" Jake yells "CAR! APPLE!". Now that he is mimicking I've been trying to get him to say "ambulance" ("amabobosee") and "alligator" (he doesn't even try anymore. He just claps his hands and says "chomp"). I love exploiting that kid. It makes me feel better. Today we might move on to big bad "B" words.
Any suggestions?
they did warn us that the first year is the hardest
Right after we were married and before Dave and I were deemed infertile by The Wives, we lived with two of our friends in a three bedroom house on Passyunk Avenue between 18th and 19th. Justin hung wallpaper for the union, Frank upheld justice, Dave was a first year law student moonlighting at a bar, and I was going for my Masters in Criminal Justice and Urban Studies and working at a store in the Liberty Place mall.
The neighbors were old and weird and swore that Dave must be Sicilian because "no self-respecting Italian would marry a Medigan" like me and they let me know that every chance they got and I was too polite and respectful of my elders to say much of anything back. They figured I was Irish because in South Philly there are only Irish and Italian people and there is no such thing as any other kind of white person. And I was a floozy for living with so many men but they were glad to have a police officer on the block. And no one really noticed Justin. No one ever really notices Justin.
We all lived there from July of 1999 until Dave and I moved out in June of 2000. It was all really strange and some really bad things happened between the few good times we had and Dave and I were so broke we cashed in savings bonds and rolled pennies to pay the bills and the house was built on an angle and I swear that place was haunted and I think that is all I'll say about that house.
If you were ever there and you have a good story to tell about that nuthouse leave it in the comments. The stories are out there, that's for sure.
The neighbors were old and weird and swore that Dave must be Sicilian because "no self-respecting Italian would marry a Medigan" like me and they let me know that every chance they got and I was too polite and respectful of my elders to say much of anything back. They figured I was Irish because in South Philly there are only Irish and Italian people and there is no such thing as any other kind of white person. And I was a floozy for living with so many men but they were glad to have a police officer on the block. And no one really noticed Justin. No one ever really notices Justin.
We all lived there from July of 1999 until Dave and I moved out in June of 2000. It was all really strange and some really bad things happened between the few good times we had and Dave and I were so broke we cashed in savings bonds and rolled pennies to pay the bills and the house was built on an angle and I swear that place was haunted and I think that is all I'll say about that house.
If you were ever there and you have a good story to tell about that nuthouse leave it in the comments. The stories are out there, that's for sure.
8.01.2007
intrusive thoughts
I was reading the materials for my squishy warm warm class yesterday and I came across a passage about those horrible negative thoughts or feelings that parents may have about their children from time to time. Those flashing notions of hurting your child (or worse) or picturing them in dangerous situations are pretty disturbing and can make someone feel like a truly horrible person.
I remember way back in the early days of Jake thinking that if I just put this kid somewhere (like in a hole in the ground) I could get some sleep and pick up where life left off nine months ago. That made me feel really good, that the inner core of my soul was telling me that my sleep and my job and my life was more important than my kid's well being. I told the doctor, and he laughed and told me that I'll feel that way every now and then for the rest of my life. Not happy with that answer, I told the nurse and she said that she wanted to put her kids in the garbage can. All four of them. They both said it was normal, and because I was so horrified by the thought of it, they weren't concerned about post-partum depression. Then they gave me a number in case I was afraid I would actually put my kid in a ditch.
If only I took this job and this class two years ago I would feel so much better about some of the things I have experienced and felt since finding out I was pregnant. The good times are fantastic but the other times are just weird and disturbing and no one tells you about them until you bring it up in a room where there aren't a lot of people around to hear the confessions that mothers make in whispers.
Everyone knows about the good parts, the stuff that Johnson and Johnson commercials are made of. Lucky for us, those are the parts that stick out the most but there are those little intrusive moments that really scare the pants out of most parents and make them question who they really are. Or is it just me? Anyone? Anyone?
We take Jake to a really good pediatrician who is readily available at almost any time. They want to see babies from birth to three every three months, and they give us an information sheet that tells us what dosage of Tylenol is appropriate and what foods a baby shouldn't have and what they should have and what to expect with physical development and what your baby can understand. All poisons should be put up and all doors to the outside world locked. Crib mattresses should be down and car seats should be in. They say that temper tantrums are normal, but they don't tell us what to do about them. Each baby is different, says the paper. They say that the terrible twos are coming, but they don't tell us how to handle each minute between 15 and 36 months. With a pat on the back, a sheet of paper that supposedly includes everything we need to know about our x to x+3 month old, and a smile, we are shoved out the door, appointment card in hand.
What about MY temper tantrums? What about the terrible thirties? What about ME? That is where this mushy class comes in. I've mentioned before that this class aims to teach us how to teach parents to become better parents by taking care of themselves while they raise their children while they teach us how to take care of ourselves while we teach parents. Genius! Help me help me so I can help you help you and your damned brats. Love it. Even better is that they are helping me help me so I can help me help me and Jake. This is so what I need right now.
I think I'm extremely lucky to have the job that I do, to have the resources available that I do, and to have the compulsion to read up on every single thing that I do regarding Jake. It helps. I'm also very thankful for the huge support of others that I have and the fact that I have the world's best baby who responds to time-outs and the threat of a toy-less play pen. And blog therapy. Lots and lots of blog therapy, my blog, your blog, your mom's blog, everyone's blog.
I remember way back in the early days of Jake thinking that if I just put this kid somewhere (like in a hole in the ground) I could get some sleep and pick up where life left off nine months ago. That made me feel really good, that the inner core of my soul was telling me that my sleep and my job and my life was more important than my kid's well being. I told the doctor, and he laughed and told me that I'll feel that way every now and then for the rest of my life. Not happy with that answer, I told the nurse and she said that she wanted to put her kids in the garbage can. All four of them. They both said it was normal, and because I was so horrified by the thought of it, they weren't concerned about post-partum depression. Then they gave me a number in case I was afraid I would actually put my kid in a ditch.
If only I took this job and this class two years ago I would feel so much better about some of the things I have experienced and felt since finding out I was pregnant. The good times are fantastic but the other times are just weird and disturbing and no one tells you about them until you bring it up in a room where there aren't a lot of people around to hear the confessions that mothers make in whispers.
Everyone knows about the good parts, the stuff that Johnson and Johnson commercials are made of. Lucky for us, those are the parts that stick out the most but there are those little intrusive moments that really scare the pants out of most parents and make them question who they really are. Or is it just me? Anyone? Anyone?
We take Jake to a really good pediatrician who is readily available at almost any time. They want to see babies from birth to three every three months, and they give us an information sheet that tells us what dosage of Tylenol is appropriate and what foods a baby shouldn't have and what they should have and what to expect with physical development and what your baby can understand. All poisons should be put up and all doors to the outside world locked. Crib mattresses should be down and car seats should be in. They say that temper tantrums are normal, but they don't tell us what to do about them. Each baby is different, says the paper. They say that the terrible twos are coming, but they don't tell us how to handle each minute between 15 and 36 months. With a pat on the back, a sheet of paper that supposedly includes everything we need to know about our x to x+3 month old, and a smile, we are shoved out the door, appointment card in hand.
What about MY temper tantrums? What about the terrible thirties? What about ME? That is where this mushy class comes in. I've mentioned before that this class aims to teach us how to teach parents to become better parents by taking care of themselves while they raise their children while they teach us how to take care of ourselves while we teach parents. Genius! Help me help me so I can help you help you and your damned brats. Love it. Even better is that they are helping me help me so I can help me help me and Jake. This is so what I need right now.
I think I'm extremely lucky to have the job that I do, to have the resources available that I do, and to have the compulsion to read up on every single thing that I do regarding Jake. It helps. I'm also very thankful for the huge support of others that I have and the fact that I have the world's best baby who responds to time-outs and the threat of a toy-less play pen. And blog therapy. Lots and lots of blog therapy, my blog, your blog, your mom's blog, everyone's blog.
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